


Saudade

by bluefallenfandomwallflowers



Category: Supernatural
Genre: And ships it, Awesome Sam, Crowley is a Little Shit, Fluff, Funny Sam and Dean POVs, Humor, Hurt Castiel, Hurt/Comfort, I'm not even kidding, Kisses, Love, M/M, Maybe a few made up Supernatural elements, Preferably Potato Soup, Protective Dean Winchester, Sam Knows, Sam cares and it is awesome, Sick Dean Winchester, Smells of... Ketchup?, Soup, There is literally a tag for that omg, Unknown Monsters, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-01
Updated: 2016-10-01
Packaged: 2018-08-16 18:42:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8113249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluefallenfandomwallflowers/pseuds/bluefallenfandomwallflowers
Summary: It’s almost hilarious, looking back on it and realizing how simple it had all been.Falling in love.	Painful, yes. Excruciatingly. From betrayal, to loss, to heartbreak, to prominent emotions that were too hard, so fucking hard.But, it didn't break him and it's extraordinary.	Because falling doesn’t always mean breaking when you’ve learned how to be plastic.                                                                                   ===The first kisses shared between Dean Winchester and Castiel in chronological order.Or, rather, the insanity that happens even during times of adventure, sickness and instances that drive Dean Winchester a little crazy.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Another adorable oneshot sitting in my drafts!!  
> Guys, I am the queen of italics apparently and they are my besties XD  
> But on a more serious note...  
> Things have been... Hard, recently, and I feel horrible for not updating some of my longer stories, so hopefully this will help encourage me and boost my writing process in a positive way that makes it fun again!  
> So, please enjoy and realize that some of the more supernatural elements in this story were the fabrication of my strange, occulted mind.
> 
> ;)

Saudade

sau·da·de

souˈdädə

A feeling of longing, melancholy or nostalgia; missing

 

**1.**

The first time they kiss, it isn’t the most conventional situation.

And certainly not, by any means, what Dean would define as _normal_.

He’s stuck in bed with a nasty cold, Cas tending to his every need and Sam running around trying to make food and appease him, or something, and he feels like he is possibly dying, which wouldn’t even be that surprising. His nose is running like a faucet and he has random hot flashes, followed by shivering so hard his teeth click. 

The only upside is not having to wake up and head out to a case at ass-o’clock in the morning and drag through towns and witnesses and monsters like he’s actually excited about it.

He hasn’t been, not for years.

So yeah, being in bed for a while may suck, but at least he’s being taken care of.

Cas rarely leaves his side, having to bring him food and helping him to the bathroom door because his legs shake so hard and all the blood rushes to his head and he isn’t able to walk without collapsing into a groaning mess of pity.

He even brings Dean different forms of toast in the morning and potato soup in the evening, which is so out of the ordinary he wonders if his mind is playing tricks on him, just to fuck with his head.

And while Sam is usually responsible for his meds (likes he’s ever needed those damn things), Cas hands him his glass of water and attempts to entertain him with stories and sets up Netflix on his stupidly fast laptop before he forces him to lie back and sleep for the _whole_ night.

It’s been four days of this caring crap.

And… Okay, Dean can’t help loving it.

Once he’s able to sit up on his own and actually talk back to Cas, everything becomes so much more…

Domestic.

Cas’ voice is soothing, a calming tide that washes through him and almost takes the pounding headache away completely.

He’s reading from one of Sam’s books, _The Great Gatsby_ , which has apparently been sitting in the dark for much too long, if the dust in between the pages floating away with each turn of Cas’ finger shows anything. It’s intriguing, watching his lips form the words, his eyes light up during certain parts, the way he leans forward and settles the spine of the book against Dean’s forearm, close and comfortable.

Cas speaks and Dean listens and it’s hauntingly beautiful, these few simple hours before dinner, reading out of a book with an angel of the Lord.

When was the last time Dean read a _book_?

Never.

And maybe that’s the problem.

Cas turns another page. _“But his heart was in a constant, turbulent riot. The most grotesque and fantastic conceits haunted him in his bed at night. A universe of ineffable gaudiness spun itself out in his brain while the clock ticked on the washstand and the moon soaked with wet light his tangled clothes upon the floor.”_

Dean closes his eyes, and breathes in deeply.

“Would you like to stop here?” Cas asks softly, touching his upper arm. “I can just-”

“No! No,” Dean exclaims too quickly, and immediately starts coughing, because he can’t seem to catch a break, let alone one moment of perfect solitude. Cas hands him his glass and watches him closely, blue eyes fond as his fingertips tap the book lightly. “No, keep reading,” he says, once he has caught his breath. “Please.”

A slight, humorous smile plays on Cas’ lips, but he seems pleased. “Okay, Dean.”

So he does.

He reads into the late hours of the night, only stopping when Sam interrupts, and they eat dinner around an episode of _Friends_ on his laptop, Dean chortling and then having another fit.

But once Sam retires for the night telling them to finish up soon so he can rest, Dean is practically begging Cas to continue reading.

It’s way past midnight by the time Cas speaks, _“So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.”_

There’s silence afterwards and Dean opens his eyes with a frown. “Is it… Over?

Cas gives a small laugh. “Unfortunately, yes.”

“That’s… That’s actually really sad.” Dean sits up and _no no no_ there are literal _tears_ in his eyes, what the hell…

“I believe you are mourning,” Cas says. He sits on the edge of Dean’s bed, his heat radiating against his thigh, holding the book delicately in his lap. “It’s common, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt just as bad.”

“Huh.” Dean can’t help smiling.

“What is it?” Cas asks, looking confused.

“It’s just… I don’t think I’ve ever read a whole book. Like, for fun. It’s just a weird feeling.”

Cas smiles at him and Dean sneezes twice, before laughing uncontrollably. He’s overcome with a swell of happiness and yet, nostalgia, wishing for that amazing feeling of _reading_ and actually _enjoying_ it to come back to him. 

He grapples for the tissues Cas hands him, and he leans forward, head bumping into Cas’ shoulder. Wiping his nose, Dean attempts to control himself and Cas laughs gently into his hair. He balls the tissues up in his hands and breathes in Cas’ soapy, musky scent.

And suddenly, as he tilts his head up to say something, anything, they’re kissing.

It’s as poetic as F. Scott Fitzgerald’s writing, as smooth as the affection coursing under his skin and tapping on his heart, palliating and comforting, like the sheets wrapped around his legs and the old familiar t-shirt on his back.

Cas hums and cups Dean’s cheek, neither moving forward nor back and after a moment, Dean is the one to part their lips, sighing lightly.

“Thank you,” he whispers, closing his eyes, not wanting to ruin _this_ , this beautiful thing between them that he never wants to let go of.

Dean leans back, sounding like a long-term smoker as he breathes in and out.

“Always, Dean,” Cas says gently from somewhere to his left.

A warm hand brushes across his forehead and then the bed is dipping back up as Cas’ weight is lifted and Dean is drifting off, content in the ardor dancing across his thoughts and wrapping around his heart.

 

**2.**

The second time is wild turbulence in a smooth, gliding aircraft set for a dangerous island that involves feelings and emotions that Dean isn’t ready to battle yet.

He’s better, back up on his feet and having no time for gorgeous books read by beautiful fallen angels with glossy voices and thin fingers.

Unfortunately.

From what Dean has experienced in his roughly 38 years on this earth- and a lot _not_ \- creatures that can rip out your heart and eat it before you can even blink are classified as two things;

_Monsters_ , obviously.

And _love_ , which Dean has clearly not excelled in in the past.

They’re in the middle of a full-blown war with a pack of werewolves in an abandoned McDonald’s when Dean’s brain just _has_ to randomly remind him of how much he misses Cas’ perfect potato soup and soft lips.

Sam and Cas are somewhere in the rundown kitchen, battling two of the big ones that have rippling muscles and nasty fangs, while Dean is frozen near a ketchup stained booth, thinking about that one perfect little kiss they had shared in the midst of a sick-coma.

It’s a fuzzy memory, one that he almost believes never truly happened.

Cas hasn’t mentioned anything about it, nor has he given any indication of whether he wants it to happen again or not.

Of course, Dean wants to kiss him again.

_Dammit_.

But he won’t say anything about it, because why would he risk ruining their friendship? He was sick, vulnerable, and Cas probably thought it was the meds acting up. Right??

_Grr…_ , something growls from behind him.

Wait, where is he again…?

Oh right.

Someone is jumping on his back, suddenly, and his gun goes flying out of his hand.

They struggle, Dean attempting to gather his bearings, but it must be one of the feisty ones, because they scramble up his back until they’re able to sink their teeth into his shoulder.

“ _Shit_ ,” he curses, grimacing as he falls onto the booth.

The acrid scent of overdue ketchup floods his nostrils as he is flipped over, his head spinning. “You shouldn’t have come, boy,” the scrawny female werewolf hisses, hands clamping down on his chest, nails pricking him through his shirt.

_Boy?_ , Dean thinks. _Do I look like some skinny ass white boy to you, lady?_

Then, the searing pain that races through him as her fingernails rip clean through his skin makes him yell, but abruptly the werewolf is yanked away just as quickly.

A screech echoes across the dusty linoleum and Dean clutches at his chest, the pain like a blazing fire that he can’t put out.

“Dean, _Dean_ , can you hear me?”

It’s Cas’ soothing, yet frantic voice above him, his hand on Dean’s thigh.

“I- I…”

Dean can feel the blood pouring from the wound through the dips in between his fingers. It hurts, really bad, and he actually has the feeling like he might bleed out this time, like he might not make it-

Suddenly, the pain is evaporating and a clean, bright burst of familiar grace is rushing through his body. It mends tissue and skin in just a few seconds and he gasps as he sits upright, clutching his chest.

Cas is above him on the vinyl booth, one knee planted between Dean’s legs, hand covering his, looking down at him worriedly.

“Are you alright, Dean?”

“Think so.”

He sits up, Cas not moving an inch and Dean is looking up at him, breathing fast, the adrenaline still inside of him still waiting to be released, keeping his heartbeat unsteady. Cas’ eyes are unreadable, sparkling darkly down at him, but they share a look and that’s all they both need for the moment.

Cas takes the initiative this time and pulls Dean’s face towards his, kissing him like he may never get another chance. It’s hot and dirty and Dean grips Cas’ hips, pulling him fast against him, licking into his mouth and gripping his hair.

They kiss like the world is ending in a McDonald’s booth.

A moan drops from Cas’ lips and he bucks forward a bit, Dean breathing in sharply at the sudden contact to his lower region, and _are they really doing this here, holy f-_ ”

“Cas? Dean? Where are you guys?”

Cas immediately backs away, the smack of their lips echoing in Dean’s ears. The angel is flushed, cheeks a deep red, attempting to fix his shirt, hair a hopeless mess. Cas swallows roughly as they stare at each other and he can still taste him, sweet and fulfilling.

Then Sam comes running into the dining room and the moment is in the past, forced to be forgotten.

Sleeping in the same motel room doesn’t help the desire building in the pit of his stomach and as he watches Cas’ chest move up and down on the sofa bed slowly, wishing he could join him, Dean knows he is royally fucked.

 

**3.**

 

The third time is simple, almost like it’s in the midst of a current relationship, like a sip of beer during a long work day or a rare hug from someone unexpected or a multitude of analogies Dean can think of from the top of his head that don’t make any sense.

But to him…

It’s silly. And special.

Sam is inside of some diner right alongside a winding road, grabbing them take-out and pie before night hits.

The sun is just setting behind the mountains, casting pretty beams of light on the dashboard of the Impala, and Dean is forced to throw on his sunglasses. He passes Sam’s pair back to Cas who is leaning against the backdoor, and once he has put them on, head tilting as he looks at him curiously, Dean is absolutely certain.

“What?” Cas asks lightly, setting his forearms on the front seat, lips pulling up in the corners.

“Nothin’,” Dean says with a laugh, turning in his seat a bit, hand warm in the light splaying out on the dark leather.

They smile at each other, like two adolescent teenagers who don’t know anything about love but feel it just the same.

Those happy, sated thoughts pop up in his mind and it makes his heart beat faster, those stupid dreams somehow converting from nonexistent to possible.

Cas is still looking at him from behind the sunglasses, and his hair is mussed up on the right side of his head from leaning against the window for five hours straight.

He looks absolutely adorable and Dean lets out a deep breath.

“Kiss me,” he finally whispers, heart beating steady and sure.

Cas obliges without question, wrapping an elbow around his neck and dragging his lips against Dean’s softly, feathery light, everything in slow motion. He presses forward, fingertips settling on Cas’ chin as he squeezes his eyes shut, drawing in everything he possibly can.

They break apart too quickly for Dean’s liking, but the aftermath is still just as full, as Cas presses another kiss to his forehead before dropping back into his seat and looking out the window with a smile, glowing like the sun lives inside of him.

And Dean hadn’t known then, but Sam had seen the entire encounter from the doorway of the small diner, _almost_ dropping Dean’s cherry pie.

Almost.

 

**4.**

 

It’s a while before the fourth one comes.

Everything is crazy, painful, just like the life they live has always been, but Cas is gone and Dean can’t find him.

He prays, wishes, _begs_ for him to come back and it hurts- _it hurts so fucking bad_ \- when the answer he’s waiting for doesn’t appear.

It’s a few months at the most, and Sam watches him dip further and further into a state of guilt and dread and despair.

“Dean, you need to eat, man,” Sam says outside of his door one morning, a bowl of Lucky Charms in one hand and a possible lead in the other.

“Not hungry,” Dean’s scratchy voice says from the other side, quiet and unsure.

Sam rubs at his eyebrows in agitation. “Come out for dinner at least, okay? I’m worried about you.”

This time, silence answers him.

Sam sighs, heading back towards the kitchen. As he dumps the forgotten bowl in the sink, his eyes scan over the news report in his hand.

A week, maybe even a few _days_ ago, Sam would have shown Dean and told him that maybe all these electrical problems and thunder storms could have something to do with Cas’ disappearance.

But Dean is so fragile.

He hates to admit it, but right now is not the time to get Dean’s hopes up.

Later that night- when Dean has _not_ come out of his room- Sam knocks on his door, setting a tray down in front of it and attempting to sound convincing.

“Hey, I know you probably don’t care much at the moment, but Garth asked me to come help him out with a case.” Dean stays quiet so he continues. “It’s just a small one, no biggie, but you and I both know he shouldn’t be getting himself into too much trouble with the whole werewolf thing. I’ll be back soon. Your dinner’s just, uh, sitting out here so if you’re hungry… Yeah.”

“Okay,” Dean says, forlornly.

Sam’s heart aches but he straightens up with a heavy sigh and moves down the hallway to pack.

===

After talking to a group of people who believe that these strange occurrences are the work of aliens, Sam is sure that something sketchy as hell is going down in this creepy little town.

Despite the weird people walking around preaching about UFOs and crap, there are mysterious figures lurking around corners, short meetings in back alleys, no cars on the street and blurry eyed store owners who don’t seem to know the date.

Sam keeps his gun close, prepared for anything.

The day moves on, dreary and dark, and he finally realizes someone is following him. They’re wearing all black, a draping hood masking their face in shadow.

And Dean isn’t here to back him up.

He leads them into a seemingly abandoned bakery, whipping his gun out and demanding questions. All he receives is a haughty laugh and an attempt to stab Sam through the heart.

It’s almost humorous, how easy it is to sidesweep them to the ground, to look under the hood and then find…

Nothing.

Except an unoccupied corpse.

Sam exorcises it to no avail and prods it with different weapons, but it’s just a dead man in his late twenties with a button nose and green eyes.

The mark on his wrist is strange, though, and once he is able to do some research back in the creepy, but once beautiful motel, Sam is pissed.

And he thinks he might know what’s going on.

===

Following three different empty corpses back to the same location at the end of the day is simple, and the abandoned warehouse makes him groan, because of _course_ shit is going down in a fricken warehouse that practically screams murder and _“Oh look! We’re in here! All of us bad guys!”_

He charges in with blades attached to his sides and his gun poised, his anger leading the way.

What he finds still surprises him, though.

In the biggest space of the warehouse, there are angels, strung up and unconscious, each a good ten feet apart. They hang from thick cords attached to beams hidden somewhere in the shadow of the ceiling, rapping around their wrists so tight their fingers are turning purple.

The thin sound of blood tapping against the concrete echoes in Sam’s mind as he examines the angel closest to him.

Besides the blood streaming from her wrists, there is a thin cut on her neck that is glowing with just a smidge of grace, as if it was either left behind or someone managed to only grab a thin loop of it. She doesn’t seem to be hurt anywhere else, not even her simple cotton pants and shirt seem to be spoiled by crimson.

Almost _too_ pristine.

Sam feels a bit guilty leaving the rest of them hanging there, but his mission isn’t to save a bunch of angels.

He’s here to find _Cas_ and bring him home.

The rooms in the back of the warehouse look more promising, if that even seems like an accurate description, but he catches shadows drifting slowly across the wall, announcing the presence of either the corpses or something else. He doesn’t want to take a chance, so he slides into the first open doorway he sees and hopes for the best.

The sight that awaits him is astounding, if yet a bit terrifying, seeing so much power in one room.

Vials and vials of grace are set up around the small area, casting elegant light across the dim, plain walls.

“Wow,” Sam whispers, picking up a small tube, blue light twirling around inside, trying to escape.

It’s an incredible sight.

But the idea of Cas suspended in the air by his wrists, being drained of his blood and his grace simultaneously is sickening, making Sam’s stomach churn, because that’s his best friend in there and nobody messes with family.

He sets the fragile power down and ventures on with determination.

===

A cold, unsettling draft settles upon his shoulders as he steps into a dark room, swallowing heavily at the silhouettes ahead of him.

Sam reaches out, his fingertips brushing along the frigid wall and as he flips on the light switch, eyes adjusting, he gasps.

Piles of bodies are stacked along the edges of the room, eyes dead, mouths opened in horror. And in the corner are two angels, one lying on a rusty table, clearly dead, and another shackled to a metal chair, head hanging low and chest bare, bloody.

Sam almost drops his gun. “ _Cas_ ,” Sam hisses quietly, his heart pounding. “Cas?”

He receives no answer from the motionless angel sitting in the chair.

“Shit.” Sam scrambles over to him, avoiding the bodies, setting his gun on the floor so he can lift Cas’ chin.

The poor guy is paler than Sam has ever seen him, blood running down his neck and slim chest, breathing shallow.

There’s no sign of his grace anywhere.

“Cas, you gotta wake up, okay?” Sam pleads, slapping him lightly, shaking him. “Please. We’ve been looking for you for months. _Dean_ has been looking for you. He’s been worried sick, man. Wake up, for him. For me. Please.”

A groan tumbles from Cas’ lips, and his eyeballs move from behind the lids. Sam’s relief cannot be measured. Cas’ chest rises slowly and Sam inspects him, crestfallen when he discovers the deep slash on his back.

Licking his lips nervously, Sam works on the cuffs around Cas’ wrists, picking them surprisingly fast.

Cas falls forward into Sam as soon as he’s released, whimpering as Sam wraps his arms around Cas’ shoulders. “Hey, hey, it’s okay,” he soothes, keeping Cas’ head up. “I’ll get you out of here, Cas.”

Slowly, Cas’ eyes blink open heavily, a milky colored film coating them for a millisecond, before they clear up and reveal their normal, rich blue. He heaves in a breath, hand shaking violently as it comes up to cup his own neck. “My- my gra-” Cas begins, but then a brutal shudder runs through him, his fingertips brushing the blood that now wells in the cut and he gathers close in Sam’s arms, groaning.

“Let’s get-”

He freezes, the sound of light footsteps behind him sending a vicious chill throughout his body and his words are cut short.

Gently, he sets Cas down before swinging around, pointing one of the blades at him.

“Of course it’s one of you boys,” the empty corpse speaks, smile wobbling from being forced to move by another. “I shouldn’t be surprised.”

It lunges, and Sam edges away from Cas, who is gripping the arm of the metal chair, gasping as he tries to sit up. He catches the rush of blood that pours from the wound in his friend’s back and he aches for him.

Abruptly, the corpse charges again, not taking care to think through strategies.

But it works.

Sam is knocked to the floor, heavy arms batting at his face, dull laughter bubbling from a hollow body.

“ _No you don’t, you evil sonuvabitch_.”

It’s like any other hunt after that when his instincts kick in; Sam, rolling out from under the corpse as Dean pulls it back by its hair, slicing its head off in one smooth motion, face grim and spots of blood covering the left side of his jaw.

Sam’s in disbelief, but grateful as hell. The corpse moves and he attempts to warn his brother. “Wait, Dean, you gotta-”

But Dean is already on his knees, swiftly yanking the corpse’s sleeve up and stabbing the sigil embedded in its skin.

The disembodied head skrieks and red light erupts from its eyes, the symbol broken, before both its twitching body and its sunken face collapse, never to move again.

“How’d you…?” Sam asks, but Dean’s blade is already slipping from between his fingers and clattering to the cold floor beneath him. He’s by Cas’ side instantly, pulling him flush against his chest, petting his hair and digging his face into Cas’ shoulder.

Cas attempts to speak, gasping, but Dean holds him closer and shakes his head. “Shh, Cas, it’s okay I got you, sweetheart, I have you. I’m here.”

Dean pulls back slightly, looking into his eyes, before his lips meet Cas’ own light blue ones gently, and Cas relaxes, sighing heavily.

It’s a sight to behold.

And Sam can’t help the tears that form in his eyes as he looks away to give them the privacy they deserve.

_They’re in love_ , he thinks in utter astonishment.

But was it ever really much of a surprise?

===

The symbol is ancient, depicted as a set of plucked wings and wispy curls that can only be identified as grace.

Used as a weapon, one could virtually create an army by simply marking an unoccupied body and controlling it with an angel’s grace, something so old and dusty that even with Sam’s superb skills it takes days to find complete research on the matter.

Biblical times old.

This was a strike against heaven itself, and disaster to earth, if completed.

But they had gone through all the piles, the whole town in fact, scowering for any sign of a marked wrist.

And when they found an actual demon in the mix marking a woman with the sigil and learned it was Crowley acting out like a child, Dean goes berserk.

Literally stomping into hell with everything that could possibly take out a demon and killing anything that happens to cross his path.

It is terrifying, but Sam can’t blame him.

Plus, it’s kind of badass.

Cas is still out of it for a few days afterward, curled up on his side as to not stretch the stiches in his back and loopy from the meds Dean feeds him before leaving on his rampage with fire burning in his eyes.

Of course, not before kissing Cas on the temple sweetly and setting him up with a soft blanket and a pair of Dean’s favorite sweatpants.

Adorable.

But _scary_.

And Sam couldn’t really persuade Dean or interfere with his plan, simply along for the treacherous ride that somehow _didn’t_ end as badly as he thought it would.

Go figure.

It starts with Dean kicking open the door to Hell’s throne room, yelling, “ _CROWLEY_ ,” in a deadly tone that makes Sam swallow nervously, but continue watching because he couldn’t look away even if he wanted to.

The primly dressed demon looks just a tiny bit nervous, but he stays seated, eyes squinty. “Yes?”

“You know _what_ , you evil filth,” Dean hisses, blade rising.

Crowley rolls his eyes. “Look, I apologize profusely. If I had known your angel would have also been lured into my effortless trap, I would have told my demons to make it even more simplistic.”

Shaking his head, smoke practically pouring out of his ears, Dean laughs hauntingly. “I’m going to kill you.”

“Haven’t we been down this road before, darling?” Crowley asks, tapping one clean forefinger to his temple, as if he’s thinking long and hard.

Dean stomps up to him and plunges his blade down, but only manages to stab thick, red velvet. He tears through it and whips around, to where Crowley is standing by Sam with a worried smirk. “Well, this has been educational. Reynold, make sure to jot this down,” he calls over to a demon who is cowering in the corner of the room, staring at Dean with fear.

As Sam swings towards him, Crowley vanishes, reappearing next to one of the pillars. “Write, ‘ _Do not, under any circumstance, mess with Dean Winchester’s angel or face his forever growing wrath_.’ Did you get that, Reynold? Quite important, apparently.”

Crowley shoots Sam a smile before almost being run over by 175 pounds of flaming pissed Winchester and he squeaks, disappearing again.

“I _hate_ him,” Dean growls, hands on his knees, breathing roughly.

“Aw, I love you too,” Crowley says from behind him.

It’s a game of pathetic catch for the next five minutes, and Sam decides to pop a squat next to Reynold who is still curled up, suit dusty and wrinkled.

“I’m guessing Crowley doesn’t do this with all his friends,” Sam jokes, wiping his knife off on his jacket and grinning, watching the two idiots in front of him run around the pillars.

Reynold eyes his weapon carefully, double chin wobbling as he shakes his head.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Sam sighs, watching as Crowley and Dean circle around the throne, the eldest Winchester throwing out profane words while Crowley grins, eyes bugging out when Dean gets too close.

Eventually, it dies down and Dean collapses into the throne, sweat dripping down his forehead and it’s kinda gross.

“Huh,” Crowley says, crossing his arms in the middle of the room and examining Dean closely. “I never expected to be the one wearing you out… Guess Cas needs to replenish his title.”

He winks and then disappears, gone for good.

“ _God_ ,” Dean groans, rubbing his hands down his face in annoyance.

Sam pats Reynold on the shoulder gently before standing and going to hover next to Dean, waiting for him to blow up and start searching the entire world for Crowley while tucked away inside that damn car eating bacon cheeseburgers for the rest of his life.

(No offense, Baby, Sam thinks.)

But Dean just sighs heavily for a long time before standing, tucking the blade away and heading out the door.

Sam tries to share a look with Reynold, just so he can relate with someone and receive some sympathy, but the dude doesn’t even have the balls to look him in the eye.

He just looks down at his scuffed up shoes and rocks back and forth.

It’s a wonder Reynold got this far into Hell’s ranks…

“Come on, Sammy. Haven’t got all day!” Dean calls, sounding jolly.

_Jolly._

What even is his life anymore?

 

**5.**

 

Turns out Cas’ spectacular potato soup is simply poured from the spout of one of many small cans that have been tucked away in the cupboards by Sam, who has the insane idea that they might happen to run out of food in the near future and be unable to go buy groceries _ever again_.

But, it makes a laugh erupt out of Dean’s mouth when he asks Cas about it and receives the shameful answer, the confession only given up because he’s good at matching up certain pills to create the perfect truth serum effect.

(Ha.)

Dean loved being swaddled in warmth and fed soup the same time every day like an old person, but it’s his turn to take care of _Cas_ for a change and he loves it just as much, and probably more.

“Knock, knock,” he singsongs, rapping his knuckles against his door, poking his head in with a grin.

Cas looks up from his book, smile wobbly from all the drugs he’s been getting this past week on his way to a full recovery. His hands still shake slightly, as he sets the book down on his lap, grimacing from the pain in his back as he sits up, reaching out for the bowl in Dean’s hands.

“No can do, Cas,” Dean scolds, pulling up a chair next to Cas’ side of the bed. “You and I both know you’re still a little too shaky to be handling hot objects. Or, really, any objects at all.”

“Oh Dean, you know yesterday was just an accident,” Cas argues, sitting up further. “It slipped.”

“Yeah, because you can’t get a freaking grip.”

Cas huffs, letting Dean set the soup down on his lap, carefully. “Have you found Crowley yet?” Cas asks, eyebrows furrowing as he attempts to grab the spoon.

“No, that sly bastard’s in deep hiding.” Dean shakes his head and gives a laugh of defeat. “I really thought I’d have him this time, but he just keeps getting away and-”

“Dean.” Cas touches his hand, fingers bouncing involuntarily on his skin. “It’s Crowley. He deserves the worst, but in the end he is nothing but a rat. And look. I’m fine.”

“He took your _grace_ , Cas,” Dean says softly, fingers brushing Cas’ neck, the small bandaid covering the cut on his delicate skin.

Cas closes his eyes and cups Dean’s hand with his own. “And I’m okay.”

“Doesn’t it bother you though? Being human again?”

“A bit.” Cas opens his eyes, eyelashes fluttering as he smiles at Dean and weakly holds his hand between both of his. “But I’m not alone this time.”

It makes Dean’s heart ache, both from knowing how badly he messed up last time and the thought of them…

“No, you’re not,” Dean agrees quietly, kissing the side of Cas’ hand.

Cas smiles brighter and looks down into his potato soup. His smile slips a bit.

“What, what is it?” Dean asks, worried.

“I just… Dean, I can’t even pick up the _spoon_ ,” Cas growls, trembling so bad the soup almost spills.

Dean laughs sympathetically, moving the bowl away and setting it down on the nightstand before gripping Cas’ forearms. “Just, just slow down a bit. Just cause you think you’re fine and dandy doesn’t mean you are.”

Sighing, Cas lies back and curls up on his side. He gazes up at Dean with big blue eyes and smiles endearingly. “Stay with me for awhile?”

Dean grins and sidles up next to him, wrapping a blanket around them and letting Cas settle against his chest. “I really am sorry that your grace is gone,” Dean says softly, running his hand through Cas’ hair.

“It’s okay.”

“Ha, right.”

“I am, Dean,” Cas says, balancing on his elbow and pushing Dean onto his back, gazing down at him with seriousness and he prepares for a lecture that’ll make his heart beat and his blood flow hot. “It hurts, yes, but you have taught me that not everything needs to be big. Life-changing. So drastic that I should be worrying and searching for something else because of the fear that it might go wrong.”

Dean ponders, thinking about all the kisses they’ve shared these past months.

And Cas is right.

He always imagined their first to be a huge revelation.

Maybe that’s what has always scared him. That supposed nervousness that would flood through him and change him, possibly too much. Something he wouldn’t be able to handle and ruining them altogether.

It’s almost hilarious, looking back on it and thinking about _simple_ it had all been.

Falling in love.

Painful, yes. Excruciatingly. From betrayal, to loss, to heartbreak, to prominent emotions that were too hard, _so fucking hard_.

But, it _didn’t _break him and it’s extraordinary.__

__Because falling doesn’t always mean breaking when you’ve learned how to be plastic._ _

__“What I am trying to say is that I owe you so much,” Cas continues, inhaling slowly and picking at the lint on Dean’s shirt. “I feel tethered to you in a way that has made me realize that life is a precious thing. My days are numbered now and I wish to not spend them dreaming, but rather accomplishing and giving it everything I have. Giving _you_ everything I have, Dean.”_ _

__Dean gives him a watery smile, saudade batting at him like an untamed wind and beating behind his eyes and he drags Cas’ face towards his, kissing the tip of his nose and his eyelid and his sweeping cheekbone. “Mind spending those numbers with me?” he asks, smiling._ _

__“Not at all,” Cas answers, tipping Dean’s chin up, lips pressing against his sweetly._ _

__Although this kiss isn’t the first, it is the beginning of many to come._ _

__And that’s something Dean doesn’t doubt one bit._ _


End file.
